A Proper Date
by Crystal2222
Summary: Connor decides that two years is long enough and now it's time to ask Abby out on a date. Season 2.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm still working on Hole, in case anyone is wondering, but this one popped into my head today, and I just had to write it. It's based on something one of the Primeval writers mentioned that never made it onto the screen. Here's part one. Part two will follow tomorrow. Also, I wanted to experiment with first person voice. I hope it works for everyone.**

Did you ever love someone so much that you zoned out during a new episode of your favorite show and missed the best part, like where the time-traveling Doctor pretended to be a cowboy, because you were thinking about the person you loved?

Well, I do that all the time. It's ridiculous. I've had to replay so many shows that I'm seriously considering not watching them anymore. And sometimes, when I'm playing Diablo, I totally miss a perfect kill shot with my crossbow because a stray thought about this person sabotages me brain.

Said person is Abigail Sarah Maitland, or just Abby. She is gorgeous and teeny tiny but with so much fierce spunk you don't really notice how small she is until you're standing next to her looking down at the top of her beautiful blonde head. She has these big blue eyes that can flash from being kind to being annoyed in the blink of an eye. I know that annoyed look a little too well, to be honest. And when I crack a joke that she likes, her eyes crinkle and she smiles real big at me, like I'm the most brilliant bloke on the planet.

My best mates Tom and Duncan used to call her the "hot blonde," and that is an extremely accurate description. Sometimes I think she's too hot for me. I'm skinny and dress weird and have interests she doesn't like. But I've been told by some girls that I'm cute, whatever that means. I guess maybe it's my dimple. I hope Abby thinks I'm cute.

When I was dating this bitch named Caroline Steele, I swear to God Abby got really jealous. She was always scowling at me and complaining about Caroline. And later when I told Abby I loved her and not Caroline (long story, but let me just say that I was quite the hero in it), she didn't seem freaked out, and she didn't want to have one of those "let's be friends" talks either. She genuinely wanted to know if she'd heard me right, as if maybe she wouldn't mind it too much if I really did love her.

Anyway, me and Abby's been living together for two years, and I've decided it's time to ask her out. But it's a hard decision on account of us being best friends and working together. Plus, I live in Abby's flat and ride to work with her. If I screw up, my whole life could come crashing down around me.

Which is why I decided to ask my second-favorite person about it. My favorite person being Abby, of course.

"Professor Cutter," I say as I tap on the doorframe leading to his lab, "got a minute?"

Cutter looks up from his latest invention, an anomaly-predicting contraption. It looks like a giant slinky that some kid had gotten all twisted up, but he swears he can plot anomalies on it. I remain skeptical.

"Sure," says Cutter, moving a bit of plastic along one of the metal strands of his invention. "What's on your mind?"

I wander into the room and try to think of the best way to ask my question.

"Connor," says Cutter with one part amusement and two parts exasperation, "how many times do I have to tell you not to touch this?"

I jump back and let go of the slinky part I was playing with. "Sorry, I think better when my hands are busy."

He gives me a "get to the point" look.

"Okay," I say, "the thing is, me and Abby are good friends, yeah? But I kind of want to ask her out on a date. A proper date where I pay for things and open the door for her and stuff. Not a pseudo-date where we go to the pub and each buy a round of drinks like we usually do."

"Well that sounds nice," says Cutter, his mind obviously back on his invention. "Have a nice time."

"But I didn't ask my question yet," I say.

He glances up, eyebrows raised. "Oh, then ask."

"Well, what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Of me and Abby going on a date."

He frowns and appears to seriously consider it for a bit, though I suspect he's humoring me. "Don't bring your squabbles into work. And no snogging by the ADD."

"So you think it's a good idea?"

"Sure, why not?"

I nod, pleased. "How do you think I should ask her then?"

"Connor, surely even you have asked a girl out on a date before." He snorts and shakes his head.

"Of course, I . . . what do you mean 'even me'?! I had a girlfriend, you know. I asked her out all the time." I take a deep breath. This conversation is harder than I thought it would be. "It's just that it's Abby. She's not just anyone. What if she says no? We'll have to live together after that. Work together. Drive in together. It could all go horribly, horribly wrong."

"Then don't ask," he says mildly, as if it's not the biggest thing I'll have to do in my entire life ever.

"Don't ask? Have you not been listening to anything I've been saying? I have to ask. I'll go mad if I don't ask."

"Then ask."

I do one of those silent screams. The professor might be brilliant in paleontology, but he was terrible at romance.

"You know what?" I say. "Thanks for the advice. I'll let you get back to . . . that." I wave my hand at his invention.

He calls out a "happy to help" as I close the door behind me.

I want to talk to Jenny next, being as she's a girl and all, but she's busy, so I stop by the armory where Stephen is cleaning a big hunting rifle.

"You and Abby, huh?" he says as he pushes a rag into the barrel of the rifle with a long skinny rod. "I don't see it."

"What?" I yelp. "Not see it. Why?"

Stephen grins. "Just pulling your leg, mate. You've been hung up on her since I've known you. I seem to remember you telling me you'd met your girlfriend the first day we worked together. It's only taken you—what?—two years to get up the nerve to ask her out."

I cross my arms and scowl at him. "Okay, A, she didn't fancy me in the beginning. She fancied you, yeah? So I couldn't ask her out then." I tick off each item with my fingers. "B, she told me over and over again that we were just buddies, pals, mates, etcetera. It does something to a guy's confidence, don't it? And C, I had meself a proper girlfriend. Caroline Steele, if you'll recall. Okay, she wasn't a real girlfriend in the end, but we thought she was one for a long time, which meant that I was not available. So I did not exactly wait two years, thank you very much."

By the end of my little speech, Stephen's lips are twitching like he's trying not to laugh. I know the signs because it seems to happen quite often whenever I say more than two sentences.

"Okay, point taken," says Stephen. "Good luck with that, and don't blow it."

"Don't blow it," I repeat, nodding. "That's kind of why I'm here. How do I do that?"

"Just walk up to Abby and ask her out. Be bold, confident. Girls love confidence. And don't do that bobbing thing you do."

"What bobbing thing?"

"You know, where you sort of look like one of those toys that bounce around on springs."

"Bobbleheads? I don't do that!"

Stephen sets the rifle aside, stands, and proceeds to bounce around and go back and forth in an imitation of me. "Hi, Abby, I want to ask you out, but if you don't want to go out, that's okay too. I didn't really mean to ask you out, unless you want to get asked out, then I do mean it."

"Very funny." I tell him, trying not to let my annoyance shine through too much, but I did not come here to be mocked. "I do not do that."

"Mate, you do." He sits back down and picks up his rifle. "It's fine normally, Connor, but it doesn't exactly shout confidence. Just ask her out, and don't beat around the bush. Be strong. You can do it."

"Be strong," I repeat, nodding. I can do that. I can. Maybe. I should practice in front of the mirror.

I thank Stephen and head to the gent's on the second floor, the one that's hardly ever used. A technician is washing his hands, so I enter a stall until he leaves. When the coast is clear, I stare at myself in the mirror and smile.

"Hi, Abby," I say, trying to look strong and confident. So far, so good. "Would you like to go out with me sometime?" I catch myself tilting my head to the side and sort of shrugging. "Or not," I say before I can stop myself. "I mean, if you'd rather just stay in we can do that too."

Oh God, I am doing exactly what Stephen said not to do.

I start over. "Abby," I say to my reflection. This time I don't smile. "You're coming out with me Saturday night on a date. Got it?" There, strong and confident but kind of a jerk too.

I sigh. This is much harder than I thought.

"Just what are you doing?" asks someone.

I whirl around. Lester is standing in the doorway, looking at me like I'm crazy. And I'm not sure he'd be far off.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm practicing," I say.

Lester raises an eyebrow.

"So I can ask Abby out on a date. I want to do it right and not blow it." Wasn't this obvious?

He checks his watch and sighs. "Shouldn't you be working on whatever it is you do around here?"

I straighten my shoulders. "I'm running a diagnostic, if you must know. It takes time, so I thought I'd take a break for a couple of minutes."

"Hmph, fine then. Just stop talking in mirrors. Do that in your own time."

"All right." I duck my head and start to slide past him.

"Wait," he says, sighing. "I can't let you go out there and, well, be you. It's like sending a bunny out to play with a pack of lions. I take it you want to ask Abby for a date?"

I cross my arms and nod. Wait, did he just call me a bunny?

"Well, you obviously need tutoring. Show me your technique." He makes a shooing motion with his fingers, herding me back to the center of the room.

"My technique?" I ask, still wondering how I'm like a bunny. Is it me front teeth? I look at them in the mirror. They are kind of long.

"Stop that," says Lester, sounding like he already regrets helping me. "Just show me how you plan on asking her."

"Okay." I stop examining my teeth, but I'm not sure what to say.

"Turn around," commands Lester, "and talk to me like I'm Abby."

I obey. He looks nothing like Abby, though, and, honestly, he's not even attractive for a man. His chin's too long and his eyes are too little. I shrug and just dive right in so I can end this ordeal sooner rather than later. "Um, Abby, would you like to go out, please?"

Lester taps the side of his nose. "Not bad, not bad. But this time, be more specific."

"Abby," I say to Lester, "would you like to go out with me, Connor Temple, please?"

Lester rolls his eyes. "I mean be more specific about the date. Tell her what you want to do and when. Women like it when a man takes charge and has the date planned out."

I nod, taking this all in. Surprisingly, Lester has some good advice on romance.

I try again. "Abby, would you like to go to dinner with me on Saturday night to Luciano's?"

"Is it a date?" asks Lester.

"Of course."

"Then make sure she knows it."

"Oh, and it's a date," I add, grinning. "If that's okay with you."

Lester pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not perfect, but passable. I'd leave out the last part, though. If she has any brains, then it's definitely not okay. No need to remind her."

"Not okay? Why wouldn't it be okay?" I scowl at him. "I'm a good catch, you know."

"Do you really want to have that debate?"

"No." But I am a good catch. I'm smart and have a good job and I'm nice to people, usually. Unlike a certain boss who shall remain nameless.

"Good luck then," says Lester, clearly dismissing me. "Heaven knows you'll need it. And so will Abby."

"Thanks," I say and start to make my escape.

"Oh and Connor," says Lester just as I get to the door. "If you ever bring personal problems between you and Abby into work, you're fired."

"Leave personal problems at home. Got it."

When I'm finally free of his clutches, I check on the ADD. The diagnostic's still running, so I have time to talk to Jenny. When I get to her office, she's off the phone and doesn't look nearly as harried as before.

"I need help," I tell her when she waves me to one of her guest chairs in front of her desk.

"I'm going to assume this has nothing to do with computers or dinosaurs or you wouldn't ask me." She smiles in a friendly way.

"Yep." I explain my predicament about asking Abby out and tell her all the advice I got so far. "But what I need to know is, what if she says no?"

"That would be rather awkward, wouldn't it?" She purses her lips, thinking.

"Maybe I should hint around at a date first, see what she says."

"What kind of hint?"

"I guess, something like, 'Abby, do you think you could ever love someone if you're already friends with them first?'"

Jenny laughs. "Not much of a hint there, Connor. More like a sledgehammer. Listen, you two know each other really well, don't you?"

"We're best friends."

"So you probably have a good idea how Abby feels about you or you wouldn't even be considering asking her out, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But Jenny, Abby's a girl, and everyone knows girls are mysterious and don't always act the way you expect. What if I'm completely wrong about Abby?"

Jenny snorts. "Connor, we're not any more mysterious than guys."

I make my eyes real big and give her my "you've got to be kidding me" look. "Once I put my shoes in the oven on warm, and she freaked out, said I was going to burn the flat down and that shoes didn't belong in the oven. But it was minus ten outside! How else are you going to warm them up? Another time, she got mad because I had forgotten to do laundry and I wanted to put a shirt in the dishwasher. If a dishwasher can get dried-on spaghetti sauce off a plate, I'm sure it can get me t-shirt clean."

I sit back and nod, satisfied I made my point. "See? Mysterious."

Jenny's eyes look ready to pop out of her head. "You're right, Connor," she said, her lips twitching in that way people do with me. "Women are much more mysterious than men."

"So what should I do?"

Jenny clasps her hands together and rests them on her desk. "I think it's time to just ask Abby out for a date. Two years is long enough to wait. If she doesn't want to go out with you now, she never will."

"I supposed. But Jenny, what if she doesn't want to?" It's my biggest fear.

"Then you smile, say you're sorry to hear that, but you'll always be her friend anyway. Then you go to your room and hug your favorite stuffed animal. If that doesn't work, I've heard a shot of whiskey will help."

I don't want a shot of whiskey, and I don't want to hug my Chewbacca doll that's tucked in the back of my closet, even if it is soft and fuzzy. I want to hug Abby. Maybe I should wait until I'm sure of how she feels.

"You can't chicken out now," says Jenny, somehow sensing my mood. "Be strong, be confident." She makes a fist and punches the air with it. "Now go, before you change your mind."

I stand, and nod. "I can do this."

She gives me an encouraging nod. "Yes, you can."

But as I walk back to the Hub, I feel like I've taken an allergy pill on an empty stomach, light-headed and weak. And my knees are ready to bend whether I want them to or not. I check on the ADD. It's done with its diagnostic, so I work on it for a while in case Lester comes by.

A couple of hours later, I'm still sitting in front of the ADD. It's almost time to go home, and I haven't talk to Abby yet. Maybe I should wait until we're driving home or we're back in the flat. I picture our evening routine of dinner and TV shows and yoga classes and arguing about dishes. If I wait, another evening will pass and I'll be back in this same predicament tomorrow, and then I really will go mad.

I take a deep breath and stand, even though my knees are still really bendy. My heart speeds up as I walk down the hall to where Abby takes care of the animals. When I get there, I find her sitting at a desk, scribbling something into a notebook. I shut the door behind me so we're not interrupted.

"Hi," I squeak.

She holds up a finger while she finishes writing something. When she's done, she looks up at me and smiles one of her bright smiles. "Hey, what's up?"

"What's up? Nothing's up. Just came by to say hi is all. Why would anything be up?" I say that so fast that I'm out of breath when I'm done. At least I've stopped squeaking.

She gives me a strange look. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?"

She gets up, comes around the desk, and places the back of her hand against my cheek. I can't help but close my eyes it feels so good. "You're not warm," she says, "but you're acting weird. Stop it."

"Okay, didn't mean to act weird."

As Abby goes back to her chair, I lean against her desk before my knees give way. I pick up a pen and spin it around. "Abby, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." She's turned back to her notebook and is only halfway paying attention.

"Will you go out with me sometime?"

"Sure," she says, scribbling away.

"How about Saturday night? I was thinking dinner at Luciano's?"

"Sounds good." More scribbling.

"And I was also thinking it would be a, well, you know, a date."

The scribbling stops and so does me heart. I clutch the edge of the desk as Abby sets her pen down and looks up at me. There's a tiny furrow between her eyebrows.

"Did you say 'a date'?" she asks.

"Yeah." My head bobs to the side, and I open my mouth to tell her I only mean for it to be a date if _she_ wants it to be a date. But I remember all the advice and I just stop. I stand perfectly still, which is not an easy thing for me to do, let me tell you. But it feels like my whole body is holding its breath, and stillness is a good option right now.

Abby stares at me, and I can't tell what she's thinking. I stare back. I'm still not moving. After a moment, she beckons me with a crooked finger. "Come here."

I walk around the desk without falling on my face. "Abby," I start to say, but I'm not sure what.

She says "shh" and places a finger against my lips.

"Okay," I say against her finger.

The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Kiss me."

"What?"

"You heard me." She stands so we're almost the same height and rests her hand on my arm.

No one gave me advice about this. It was either, yes, Abby would go out on a date, and I'd be overjoyed with happiness. Or no, Abby would not go on a date, and I'd have to hug Chewbacca.

I lean forward and press my lips against hers. It's nice, sweet. We break apart and share a long look. Then Abby grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward her again. This time it's more of a proper kiss, all lovely soft lips and warm fingers on the back of my neck, and the taste of crisps from lunch, and the smell of strawberry shampoo. I pull her close and wrap my arms around her waist, wishing the kiss could go on forever.

When Abby pushes against my chest, I have to step away even though I don't want to. I even moan a little, but I can't help myself.

Abby smiles and lets her forehead fall against mine.

"That was good, yeah?" I say, hopefully. I run my fingers through her hair, and she doesn't tell me to stop.

"Very," she says.

"Does this mean you'll go on a date with me Saturday?"

"It sure does."

"Oh, thank you, Abby." I throw my arms around her and swing her around in a circle.

Abby laughs and swats at my shoulders. "Connor, stop it."

When I put her down, the grin on my face is so big it actually hurts.

Since it's about time to go home, I hang out while Abby logs off her computer and gathers her things. I open the door, expecting to see the usual trickle of ARC employees on their way out of the building. Instead, Stephen, Jenny, and Cutter are clustered in the hall. They immediately start talking to each other as if they always meet right outside the animal area.

Abby slows down as we pass them. "Everything all right?" she asks.

Cutter barely glances at her. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. Have a nice evening."

"Okay, you too," she says, brows furrowed in suspicion.

I grab her hand and pull her down the hall before she can ask any more questions. Before we turn the corner, I twist around. The three of them are watching us, so I give them a thumbs up. Stephen pumps his fist, Jenny gives me a thumbs up in return, and Cutter just smiles.

"What's going on?" asks Abby, still looking suspicious.

"Nothing," I say, "just saying goodnight. They helped me with a problem today."

"Oh yeah? How'd it turn out?"

"Perfect," I tell her and give her hand a squeeze. "Just perfect."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I decided to extend this story a bit with the actual date. Hope you enjoy.**

So tonight's the big night. It's my proper date with Abby Maitland, aka the girl of my dreams, the hot blonde, and the reason why I'm standing next to the washing machine right now in just me boxers (with their Scooby Doo print) and socks. See, the thing is, I'm a bit nervous. Okay, I'm extremely, phenomenally nervous. If there was a prize for being the most nervous person in the whole universe, including all the anomalies ever opened across time, I'd win by a landslide.

Which means that my hand might've been shaking just a tiny bit when I opened the bottle of ketchup just now. I hadn't eaten all day because of my nerves, and I thought Abby's leftover chips from lunch would hit the spot. I grabbed a new bottle of ketchup and tried to open it.

Let me ask you a question. Who screws those lids on so tight? I might not have the biggest muscles in the world, but I do all right with opening bottles and almost never have to ask Abby for help. And I am not going to ask her right before our big date.

This time, though, I have to hold the bottle between my legs and twist so hard my entire body is shaking with effort. When the top finally comes off, ketchup spurts all over my clothes, in my hair, up my nostrils. It squirts on the kitchen cabinets, up onto the ceiling, into Rex's food bowl, and all over the refrigerator. I look like I'd murdered someone.

I even let out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp.

"Connor?" calls Abby from her room. "Everything all right in there?"

"Yep," I calls back. "Just . . . bashed me elbow is all." It isn't true at the moment I say it, but as soon as I take a step, I slide on the ketchup and fly up in the air and land flat on my back, banging my elbow on the floor in the process. I make sure to keep my moan too low for her to hear.

Rex takes that moment to fly down and lick ketchup off my nose. I glare at him and gingerly get to my feet. Our date is in less than an hour, and I can't let Abby see what had happened.

I wasted a couple minutes just looking around me in horror. Finally I decided to throw my clothes in the washer because I would probably just spread more ketchup around the kitchen if I kept them on.

Now that they're safely getting clean, I walk back into the kitchen in my boxers and socks and set to work. It took me a good half hour and a whole roll of paper towels to wipe down all the surfaces. Since my clothes aren't done yet, I run upstairs to shower—again—and throw on a robe. By the time I'm done, there isn't time to dry my clothes so I check through my closet for something else.

It is a lost cause. I don't have many nice outfits. Mainly work clothes, jeans, and printed con tees. I bought the ketchup-covered outfit especially for tonight, and now I don't know what to wear. I chew on my lips and stare, waiting for inspiration.

"Hey, Connor?" calls Abby from the bottom of the stairs. "Why's there ketchup on the light?"

Oh crap, I forgot to clean it. "Rex licked some ketchup. He must've flown up there."

"You shouldn't be feeding Rex ketchup. It's full of sugar and preservatives. It's not good for him."

"He got it before I realized. I'll clean it up later, okay?"

"All right, but don't forget."

I blow out a huge sigh of relief. First crisis averted. Now, onto the second crisis. What to wear?

"You about ready?" calls Abby.

"Yeah, almost," I tell her, furiously pawing through my shirts for something that looks nicer than my usual outfits.

I hear her march up the stairs. "What's taking you so long? You're always ready before me."

When she reaches the top, I turn and to face her. My mouth falls open and I forget I'm standing there in my old ratty robe. Abby looks gorgeous. She's wearing a royal blue skirt that's above her knees with a white blouse hanging off one shoulder. It makes me want to pull it off the rest of the way. She's got on high heeled pointy black shoes and a silver necklace of a lizard. Her hair is short and super cute.

"You're dribbling, Connor," she says with a smirk, but I can tell she's pleased.

"Yep," I say, "hard not to when you look like that."

For a moment I worry that I'm saying the wrong thing and Abby'll yell at me, but I remember that we already kissed and soon we'll be going on a date. It should be okay to say stuff like that now, isn't it?

Abby smiles and adjusts her blouse but leaves it falling off one shoulder, much to my relief. She looks me up and down. "I hope you plan on changing."

"Got some ketchup on me outfit," I confess. "Now I don't know what to wear."

Abby puts a hand up over her mouth to hide a laugh. "Trust you! Okay, let's take a look."

I stand aside as she scrutinizes my wardrobe. She pulls out one thing after another, looks at them, and puts them back in. Finally, she settles on a black shirt I forgot I have because my mum gave it to me for Christmas (she usually has boring taste) and a pair of gray pants.

"These'll do," she says and holds them up against me.

"Okay," I say, relieved not to have to think about this anymore.

After Abby goes back downstairs, I put on the pants and the shirt. The shirt is a bit plain, so I pick out a pin-striped waistcoat that's not as good as the one in the washer, but it'll do. After I put on my shoes, I tie a red scarf around my neck and look in the mirror. Oops, forgot to comb my hair. A second later, it's damp but tame, and I think I'm ready.

The biggest night of my entire life is about to begin. I take a deep breath, shake out my arms, roll my head around my neck, and climb down the stairs.

"Ready?" asks Abby. She slings her purse over one shoulder.

I nod. "Ready."

As we head for the door, she places her hand on my arm and stops me. While wearing high heels, she's almost my height, so it's easy for her reach over and grab the back of my neck. She pulls me to her, leans in, and licks my earlobe. My eyes flutter closed and a shiver runs up my neck. She does it again. And again. How I remain standing, I'll never know.

As Abby steps back, I open my eyes and just stare at her, waiting for my brain to jump start.

Abby licks her lips. "Mmm," she says, "ketchup."

"It's me new cologne," I manage to say. "You like?"

Abby laughs. "Yeah, but it's making me hungry." The way she says it, with a flirty grin and a sideways glance makes me think she might not be talking about food. She might be talking about . . . well, me!

I swallow and gesture for her to go ahead of me down the stairs. When we get to the sidewalk outside, I hold my elbow out, and she links her hand through it. Our first proper date has begun.


	4. Chapter 4

We're at Luciano's Ristorante, and Abby is across from me looking so lovely I want to just stare at her all night long, but since that would be kind of creepy, I force myself to look at my menu. I don't see any of the words, though. I keep watching her out of the tops of my eyeballs. Her skin is all golden from the candlelight, and she has a tiny silver lizard on a chain around her neck that catches the light.

The ristorante (I love saying that.) is extremely perfect for a first date. It's kind of dark and quiet, with lots of Italian decorations. On the walls hang pictures of men pushing gondolas and women picking grapes and families dancing in town squares. Old wax-covered wine bottles sit in the middle of every table holding a candle that's dripping more wax. The tablecloths are white and crisp, and the silverware is real silver. It smells like freshly baked bread and garlic and warm comforting food.

I glance around and notice that most of the other people are couples. I wonder if they're on a first date too. Are any of them as worried as me that they'll drip sauce on their shirt, or catapult their fork across the room when they reach for their napkin, or accidentally lob a meatball into their date's face as they try to cut off a piece?

Oh no, it'll be the ketchup fiasco all over again, but in public.

"What're you going to get?" asks Abby as she glances up from her menu.

"Nothing with spaghetti sauce," I blurt.

Abby laughs. "Good luck with that, Connor. You do know what kind of food they serve here, right?"

I laugh a little and bob my head to the side in embarrassment. "Just don't want to spill is all. I'm a bit nervous." I hold me hand out and show her how it's shaking.

Abby reaches across and grasps my fingers. "Why're you nervous?" She brings my hand down to the table and keeps holding on. Without thinking, I weave my fingers through hers until we're holding hands like a proper couple.

It's hard to remember her question. All I can think about is how a good it feels to have her skin touching mine. My fingers can't shake when she's holding them. "What?"

Abby gives my fingers a squeeze. "Never mind. I think I know. But you don't have to be nervous, Connor. We're best friends, yeah? We've eaten together a million times."

"It's not quite the same, is it?"

I meet her eyes and it's like something super-serious passes between us. Like a ray beam shoots from her brain to mine and boomerangs back again. It's like we both just realized how different things are going to be. It makes a shiver run up my back. "Abby," I say, my voice sounding a little hoarse.

"Yeah?" she whispers.

I don't know what was going to come out of my mouth next, and I don't find out because the waiter arrives at our table. I let out a sigh of relief.

The waiter introduces himself as Marco and asks us what we want to drink. He even has an Italian accent. I feel like I'm in a movie.

Abby pulls her hand away to look at the wine menu. "I'd like some wine. How about you, Connor?"

"Wine sounds good."

"Would you like a bottle?" asks Marco.

We agree that we would, so Marco makes a couple of suggestions. I have no idea what kind of wine to get, so I just go along with Abby's pick. It's something red with citrus overtones and hints of vanilla, whatever that means! It sounds like candy to me.

As we wait for the wine, I notice a tiny furrow appear between Abby's eyebrows.

"Connor," she says, leaning toward me, "I think we should talk."

I stare at her in disbelief. But we just _started_ our date! It couldn't possibly be time for a talk yet, could it? Oh God, she's thought about the ketchup and decided I'm too clumsy. Maybe I shouldn't have told her how nervous I am. Maybe I should have complimented her more on her outfit.

"You look nice," I say quickly. "Really amazing, actually. I bet I have the prettiest date in the whole restaurant. Or should I say ristorante? Your hair looks very, um, neat and combed, and your dress is short. I like the way I can see your legs more. And it's cool how tall you are with those high heels, almost as tall as me."

Abby covers her mouth and I can tell she's trying not to laugh. "Connor, relax. You can't freak out whenever I say we should talk."

"But Abby, it's never good when a girl wants to have a talk. Every bloke knows that."

"Well every bloke is wrong. Sometimes two people need to talk so there aren't any misunderstandings between them, yeah?"

"I guess so."

She gestures between us. "This is a big step, you know? And I just don't want things to get weird between us."

"Me neither." I nod, but I'm not sure where she's going with this. "Weird how?"

"Well, what if we start going out and then decide we don't want to anymore? That might be kind of uncomfortable, don't you think?"

If you call tearing out your heart, ripping it to shreds, and throwing the pieces to future predators as uncomfortable, then, yeah.

"But Abby," I say. "What if we like going out? What if we just stay together? That wouldn't be weird, would it?"

"No, that would be good." She gives me a warm smile.

"Cool." I smile back.

"But we've never tried to be a couple before so the things that don't bother us now might really become annoying, you know?" Abby pauses as Marco appears at the table.

We watch him open the wine and fill our glasses. After Marco leaves, Abby and I clink our glasses together and say "to us." When I taste the wine, I'm relieved it doesn't taste like candy.

I take another sip before I force myself to continue our talk. "What kind of things would bother us?" I ask, picturing the pair of socks I left next to the couch last night and forgot to take upstairs.

"I don't know. Things. When I do kick boxing now, you can just go up to your room and ignore me. And when you want to play video games all afternoon, I can just go outside and enjoy the sunshine."

"But we can still do that whether we're a couple or not, can't we?" I try not to think of our future sleeping arrangements, but I do know my bedroom will still be there as a hidey-hole whether or not I keep sleeping in it.

"That's true," says Abby.

"We'll figure things out as we go along," I tell her. "We already figured out how to live together."

"I hope so. But see, that's why talking is so important, yeah? So we talk before we get mad and we don't make assumptions about things."

She's making a lot of sense, which is somewhat annoying. I make a big show of sighing and rolling my eyes. "You're right. Talking is good."

"Eh, come again?" Abby cocks her head and places her hand near her ear.

I give her a look. "You heard me."

"Heard you say what?"

"That you're right."

Abby jabs her finger in my direction. "Just remember that, Connor Temple. I am right."

I try not to smile, but it's a lost cause. "Yeah, I guess even broken clocks are right twice a day."

Her eyes open wide and her jaw drops. She kicks my shin under the table, but it doesn't really hurt, so I capture her foot between mine. She struggles to pull free and we get into a silent tug of war with our feet. But I'm way too strong, plus I know from prior experience with my sisters that once you cross your ankles it's impossible to pull them apart even when someone is kicking them with your other foot, which Abby does. But I can endure the pain of her high heel long enough to win the game. After a few minutes, Abby finally gives up, and we both laugh. A few people glance at us, so we try to keep our voices down, but that just makes us laugh even more.

Soon Marco comes back and we have to call a truce. Abby orders veal piccata, and I take a chance on spaghetti with meatballs. Our food is delicious, and while we eat, conversation flows easily between us like it always does. I don't even spill a drop of sauce or lob my meatball at anyone!

One of the coolest things about dinner is that Abby doesn't try to pull her foot away from me anymore. I relax my grip on her, and she keeps one of her feet pressed against mine the entire time. It's like we're holding hands only with our feet, and it's in secret because it's under the tablecloth.

After dinner, we decide we're too full for dessert, so we get a couple of cappuccinos.

"Connor," says Abby as she stirs some sugar into her coffee. "I wanted to say one more thing. Even if we try really hard to be a couple, we can't predict the future, yeah? Lots of things can happen, and I don't want to lose you as a friend."

"I don't want to lose you as a friend, either," I say.

"But it might be impossible to stay friends if we break up." She glances down and brushes a crumb off the tablecloth.

"Maybe at first it would." I swallow and try not to think about it. "But if we both want to be friends, I think we could do it."

"Really?" Abby clears off some more crowns. "Promise?"

"Yeah. I don't want to lose you, ever."

Abby glances up. Her eyes are bright as she reaches across the table for my hand. Our fingers thread together as if that's the only way they fit. "Me neither."

"'Cause the thing is," I say, "I love you, Abby. Always have. Always will." I blink. I hadn't meant to say that tonight, maybe not for many, many nights, if at all. But somehow the words just popped out.

Abby stares at me with her eyes wide. Is she shocked, scared? I don't know. But I realize I'm not scared anymore. My hands don't shake and the sick feeling is gone from my stomach. It's like the words somehow made me brave, as if it's been this that I've been afraid of all along. Not spilling sauce or throwing my fork or doing any one of a million stupid things I might do in my clumsiness. It's telling Abby how I really feel. And now that the words are out there, now that she knows how I feel, I can finally relax and just be myself.

Abby blinks, and a tear slides down her cheek. "So I did hear you before."

"Yeah, sorry for pretending that I didn't say it." I reach across and brush away her tear.

"It's okay. You said it now." She leans across the table and gives me a long, slow, sweet kiss. The restaurant disappears and all I can think about is how good everything feels right now.

"Thanks for coming on a date with me," I say as we finally break apart and Abby sinks back into her chair.

"Thanks for asking me," she says. "Now take me home, yeah? The date's not done yet."

I quickly pay the bill and jump out of my chair, sloshing my coffee onto the white tablecloth and dropping my napkin on the floor. My spoon somehow leaps out of the saucer and hits a passing waiter right on the shoulder. Abby stares at me in astonishment. I don't care. I just grab her hand and drag her home as fast as I can.

As Abby said, we have a first date to finish.


End file.
